


Maybe a Little

by Negaini



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: AU, And teeth, College!AU, Fellatio, M/M, smut for the sake of smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-04 16:24:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3074312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Negaini/pseuds/Negaini
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I just wanna,” he mumbled, and fidgeted with the waistband of Marco’s sweat pants. His eyes were a little glassy, and looked more nervous now, than they had before, but his mouth was set in a thin, determined line. “Okay?”</p>
<p>Marco’s pulse sped, and he was nodding before Jean had even finished speaking, sputtering a few relieved <i>yes’s</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maybe a Little

**Author's Note:**

  * For [quartetship](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quartetship/gifts).



**Maybe a Little**

Marco hadn’t known, when he’d woken up that morning. If he had, he might have taken extra care in his shower, maybe done a bit more to set the mood, than lay on his bed for the better part of the afternoon. He should have seen it coming, with how quiet Jean had been, sitting over at his desk. _Studying_ , he’d said, though he hadn’t turned a page in almost half an hour. Not that quiet between the two of them was uncommon, but this wasn’t the comfortable silence that Marco had grown accustomed to- this was different. Jean had some sort of nervous energy around him that made Marco bite his tongue, to keep from asking about. He knew that if Jean had wanted to talk, he’d do it only when he was ready. Marco would be lying if he said that he wasn’t worried; what if Jean had changed his mind about their relationship? It had only been a few weeks, well within range for him to come to a conclusion or two. It wasn’t that unusual for people to break up at this point, before things got too serious, right? Only, things felt pretty serious, to Marco. He frowned, and chewed on the inside of his mouth.

When he’d finally turned toward Marco, however, there was not an ounce of pain on his face, the way he’d imagined there would be. On the contrary, with his arms stretched over his head, t-shirt riding up to flash a stunning view of the hair trailing down past his waistband, he looked anything but ready to end things between them. He gave Marco that _look_. The one that never failed to make his skin prickle, and his heart stutter beneath ribs and muscle, until he wasn’t sure that he would be conscious from one moment to the next.

He must have been staring, because after a few seconds of mouth-breathing, Jean gave a small, low laugh; the sound came from deep in his chest, and seemed to reverberate around their small dorm room. Marco’s eyes snapped back up to his face, but he’d been caught, though Jean’s knowing did nothing to dissuade his looking. A small hand gesture had him tripping over himself to get off his bed, one foot getting tangled in a stray blanket. With a bit of effort, and maybe a small loss of dignity, he got himself over to Jean, only to be tugged into his lap, feet planted on either side of the chair.

Cold fingers worked up under his shirt, and Marco couldn’t control the gasp that escaped him as a palm pressed flush against his spine. Jean leaned up, and tugged him down with his other hand on the back of his neck, until he could mash their mouths together, lips moving hot and slick over Marco’s. There was no telling where all of this heat had come from, or when all of the air had left the room, but he only really noticed either when they broke apart to breathe, Jean pressing rough, biting kisses into the crook of his neck. Marco’s hands tangled in the cotton of Jean’s shirt to keep him close, though he wasn’t about to go anywhere, anytime soon. They had a rhythm between them, between their kisses, their breaths, and the roll of hips, punctuated by sharp, needy noises that neither could be sure came from the other. It was the same when they talked, and how they cohabitated; they existed in a space of their own.

When the pattern was broken, all Marco could do was whine, and try to press back into it. Jean laughed, again, the same way he had earlier, with more breath than sound. He patted Marco’s thighs, as if trying to get his attention, which he already _had_ , but-

“Hey, babe.” He muttered against insistent lips. “Marco, hey.” Marco frowned, and pulled back far enough to watch bitten, red lips say: “I wanna do something.”

“Huh?” he asked, because what exactly did he think that Marco was there for, anyway? To play chess?

“Here,” he started, helping Marco stand- something that took monumental effort, on his end. No sooner was he on unsteady feet, than he was sitting on the edge of Jean’s desk, papers crunching, and pens skittering to the floor. “I just wanna,” he mumbled, and fidgeted with the waistband of Marco’s sweat pants. His eyes were a little glassy, and looked more nervous now, than they had before, but his mouth was set in a thin, determined line. “Okay?”

Marco’s pulse sped, and he was nodding before Jean had even finished speaking, sputtering a few relieved _yes’s_. Jean’s expression melted into a grin, and he tugged his pants down so unceremoniously that Marco would be hard-pressed to recall any uncertainty at all. The wooden edge of the desk was the only solid support that his hands could find, and with Jean ducking to lick an experimental stripe up his length, he thought that he might just fall to the floor. He’d expected at least a _little_ hesitance, thought he might ask what he liked, first, but Jean plunged straight ahead, one hand holding onto a thigh, while the other pumped saliva-slicked strokes, as his tongue lapped along the head.

It was good. Great, even. Getting something like this from Jean was nothing short of a miracle, in Marco’s opinion, especially when he hadn’t even asked. Not that they hadn’t talked about, well, _consummating_ before, but Marco had always imagined that it would be more of a slow-burn. He hadn’t expected it to just _happen_ , though he couldn’t really complain; not when he’d been all worked up. So, he tentatively wound fingers into bleached-blonde hair, giving small tugs every now and then, when he wanted Jean to slow down. It wasn’t long before they found their pace, again, the wooden desk groaning beneath Marco’s weight, and their repetitive movements, and he thought that he knew how it felt, being slowly shaken apart.

He thought that the soft thuds and moans might attract attention, but the only person who would burst in on them was Reiner, and how many times had he gotten photos sent to him, because when drunk, he couldn’t tell the difference between ‘Bertl’ and ‘Bott’? If he ever managed to stop being mortified, he had some very interesting texts saved for a rainy day. 

None of the sounds they were making even held a candle to the loud groan that tore its way free from Marco’s lungs, when in a moment of carelessness, Jean let his teeth scrape ever so lightly against the underside of his cock. They both paused, for a moment, Jean blinking up at Marco, who had all but turned into a puddle of sweat and heat. When he started moving, again, it was with new purpose. The pressure was the same, the licks and sucks were largely unchanged, but now he was decidedly a bit less careful.

It drove Marco _mad_.

Only a few minutes in, and he was pulling hair, the length of his dick rammed down Jean’s throat, in a last-ditch effort to feel that tightness around him once more before he came, stuttering a stream of curses, and variations of Jean’s name.

When he crashed back down to Earth, Jean was sitting back in his chair, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and grinning like he’d won the lottery. Marco dragged both of his hands over his face, through his hair, and laughed.

“So,” Jean started, voice rough in a way that went straight back into Marco’s libido. “You, uh, like it rough?”

Marco slid off of the desk, landing with a soft _‘oof’_ on top on Jean’s thighs.

“Maybe a little.” He said, licking at Jean’s lips. “Just a little”


End file.
